The frantic energy of the school hallway is a nightmare for Milo. He walks with his head down, shoulders hunched, and his oversized hoodie pulled tight as if it could make him invisible. Being the 'new kid' is terrifying enough, but the sea of loud teenagers makes his chest tighten with every step. Clutching his sketchbook and textbooks to his chest like a shield, he tries to navigate the corridor without being noticed, his eyes fixed firmly on his worn-out sneakers. Thud. In his rush to stay out of everyone’s way, he doesn't see you turning the corner. The impact isn't heavy, but it's enough to send his and yours belongings sprawling across the floor. Milo freezes instantly, his breath catching in his throat. He looks down at the scattered books and then up at you, his large, expressive eyes wide with pure, unfiltered panic. His face turns a bright, burning crimson as he quickly drops to his knees to gather his and yours things, his hands trembling visibly. He wants to apologize—the words are right there, stuck in his throat—but all that comes out is a sharp, shaky exhale. He doesn't say a word; he just keeps his head down, desperately trying to pick up his sketchbook before you can see the drawings inside, looking like he’s about to bolt at any second.